It was difficult not to be transfixed, watching pro-Duterte social media personalities in the TriComm hearing respond to questions about things they have said, posted online, screencaps and all.
It was much like that meme called expectation vs reality. The expectation was for a grand display of arrogance, a show of force, from people whose voices and faces inundate political social media algorithms with their brand of incendiary commentary. This expectation is not unfounded: they had already shown a united front by ignoring the first invitations to attend this same inquiry, and they had seemed to quite enjoy the mainstream attention, including the support of people like veteran journalist Vergel Santos who believed, as Duterte social media personalities did, that the invitation in and by itself was a violation of the right to free speech.
The reality though was this: faced with screencaps of the things they’ve said recently on current issues, and questioned about the truth these opinions carry, they were cut down to size. There were raised voices, pleading and whining, and then calm, quiet engagement—and agreement—with the heightened elderly macho emotions of the dominantly male Committee. Apologies, forced and otherwise, were made; fear and harassment were invoked; vlogger tears fell.
A shift in status quo
For six years under Duterte none of his social media propagandists needed to answer for their posts, no matter how angry or inflammatory, no matter how malicious, no matter how libelous. None of them had to answer for the information they were using as basis for their commentary. That they were on the side of government of course was their leverage: why would any government official, why would any government agency, demand that they do better, call them out on wrong information, when they were basically doing this in service of the President?
Duterte himself, after all, lived off exaggeration and hyperbole to sustain his audience. Part of his performance as nation’s father was about a constant anger against all those he deemed as enemies of nation: addicts, activists, the Lumad, media, critics, the Pope, Obama, all. This display of antagonism his followers loved, his political allies echoed, and his propagandists on social media replicated. Anyone who called this kind of rhetoric out was attacked, harassed, or bullied online. If Duterte was their father, then these fruits didn’t fall far from the tree.
This was part of the climate of fear that was sustained for six years. The social media personalities at the TriComm are living on the fumes of those times.
This is not to say that Marcos doesn’t have his own social media personalities, or that the disinformation has not been encouraged the past three years to serve this government. It is to say though that the tenor and tone of online political discourse has changed, in the same way that the status quo has. To an extent, and in many ways, it feels like we are back to the PNoy years (and what a relief that is).
That this is also a function of algorithms is precisely the point. For six years there was no evading the toxic violent rhetoric of Duterte and his propagandists; three years into Marcos and we can actually have newsfeeds that are devoid of pro-Duterte content (and what a relief that is).
The impossibility of regulation
Mocha Uson of Duterte years might take credit for the kind of angry, attack-mode rhetoric that many Duterte propagandists continue to engage in. But Mocha can take credit for one other thing: she was first to brand herself “not media,” consistently responding to Senators in a 2017 hearing on the spread of false news that she was “a blogger, not a journalist.”
This would turn out to be good for two things: one, it was an excuse to not have credible sources for anything she said, cloaked as this one was as opinion; two, it created a counterpoint to mainstream media which Duterte propaganda manufactured as “necessary” because “no one” was reporting on all the good Tatay Digong was doing. They didn’t need to have credible sources or factual information; they only needed to beat the news cycle at delivering information, questionable and otherwise.
To an extent, Mocha’s “blogger, not journalist” branding early into the Duterte campaign and presidency was a signal of what was to come: a major Duterte project was to discredit mainstream media at scale, be it by questioning funding sources or by claiming biased reporting, be it by shaming news reporters or taking over comments threads online.
There was nothing that could be done for six years, other than label Duterte propaganda as “fake news” and escalate fact checking and social media education initiatives. Even the current House of Representatives took three years to engage with Duterte discourse.
But while the goal at the TriComm was regulation, what it ultimately surfaced was that this would be impossible. And no, it is not a problem of how to define “fake news”, Galileo notwithstanding. It is a problem of labelling what it is these social media personalities do.
Its form tells us that this is not news, it is commentary. And it is this freedom to have an opinion that is the playground of disinformation. Here, in this space, facts can be skewed to suit the purposes of propaganda, data can be decontextualized, and the tone and tenor of the argument are everything. Here is where political social media operators, across the political spectrum—Duterte, Marcos, kakampink—exercise their freedom to spew vitriol, bully critics, and harass anyone seen as enemy. Here is where those who think differently from the crowd, or mob, or echo chamber silence themselves.
It is because this is commentary that regulation will be impossible. Because that would cut across all of our opinions, no matter where we stand in the political spectrum, as it would cut across all media, from social to print, television to digital. Regulation will only make sense if it cuts across all of us, which is why regulation doesn’t make sense at all.
The case for accountability
Ellen Tordesillas hit the nail on the head when she told the TriComm about the fact-checking project of Vera Files. What it does is to check information delivered as news, not check commentary and opinion. The former is about ethical and responsible journalism; the latter is about free speech.
What of irresponsible commentary? What of baseless opinion? There has to be a way to hold accountable those who live off political social media content yet feel little to no responsibility about the effects of their actions on their public.
Here is where the TriComm project of figuring out necessary legislation or steps in addressing this form of disinformation remains relevant. The pro-Duterte vloggers in fact made a case for it when none of them felt responsible for the opinions that they posted online; when none of them could defend the way in which they framed their screencapped posts, when none of them even really showed remorse for what was being proven to be opinions based on false data.
And here is another thing with this kind of political commentary: not only can it manipulate the facts to use in favor of who it protects, or who it seeks to destroy. It also frames these in a voice, a tenor, a rhetoric that can reek of malice. Here is also where intent is key, something that the Duterte years was quite big on. They insisted that any kind of leftist rhetoric, or leftist action, was anti-government and therefore deserving of Duterte’s and propagandists’ vitriol. Now that these Duterte propagandists are on the opposite side of government, exactly the same thing can be said about them, except that unlike the Left which can discuss their stance on issues in detail and with verifiable facts, the Duterte vloggers care little for both.
Which brings us back to a question: in lieu of regulation, and in light of an obvious disregard for fact-based and responsible opinion, how do we hold social media personalities accountable for their digital commentary?
I would, to an extent, work on it in exactly the same way fact-checkers have for false and fake news. Define our terms, identify types of content, keep track, respond, repeat. It might seem like a thankless job, but it could, once it is on the same scale as the disinformation content, gain a life of its own on these platforms. This is especially true for Tiktok where I have lived on a Duterte-Marcos algorithm since November 2021, and I have seen firsthand how horrendous and massive disinformation on this platform and this specific algorithm can be.
In the meantime, one must congratulate the TriComm for bringing these Duterte vloggers to light, and in the process engaging in a conversation that for six years under Duterte could not be had at all. At the very least, it was good television: this character arc for people who are usually on fighting stance, but in Congress were suddenly meek and timid, was pretty astounding to see. Not to dismiss their fears of being declared in contempt, and not to underestimate the kind of energy a panel filled with mostly men can feel like, there was poetic justice in seeing these social media personalities, always so confidently fighting for their Tatay Digong on their own platforms, being made to answer for the information that their opinions carry outside of the digital, with an audience outside of their algorithm.
At best, this has to start a conversation about responsible commentary and informed opinion, cutting across the hate and vitriol from Duterte fanatics to the discriminatory bobotante rhetoric of the kakampinks; from the misogynist laughter at women’s anger to the elitist sub-Saharan putdown of Mindanao.
The views in this column are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of VERA Files.
